Parkhurst Boys | Page 7

as hilly as a pie-crust.
But Birch and I were well in the humour of the thing by this time, and
determined it should not be our fault if the "great hunt" of this year
ended in a victory for the hounds. So we spurted for nearly a mile,
jumping most of the narrow ditches and low hedges that crossed our
path, and making as straight a course as the hilly ground allowed of.
But, despite all our efforts, the occasional glimpses which we caught of
our pursuers showed us that we were unable to shake off four or five of
the leading hounds, who, with Forwood at their head, were coming on
at a great pace, and, if not gaining on us, at least not losing ground.
This would never do. It would be all up if things went on so, we could
see; so the cunning Birch had once again to resort to his dodges to gain
time.
Suddenly altering our track, and leaving the fields, he struck a dusty
lane, which wound in and out in the direction of Parkhurst. Now, as this
was a very dusty and a very chalky lane, and as the wind was blowing
the dust about very freely, it was easy to see why the artful Birch made
use of it on the present occasion. Our white scraps of paper, falling on
the white road, and being fallen on by the white dust, had a good
chance of escaping detection, unless looked after very carefully; and to
make matters more secure, we dodged off into the fields, and back
again into the lane, pretty often, leaving our pursuers a ditch to jump
each time.
This manoeuvre answered fairly well, for the next time we saw the
hounds they were searching about by the side of a ditch for our track, a
good way to the rear.

We had now to face the hardest bit of work of the afternoon. The last
two miles home were over a perfectly flat bit of country--so flat that the
hounds would have us in view nearly all the way, and, consequently, to
dodge or double would be simply useless. Our only course was a
straight hard run for it, trusting to our legs and our wind to pull us
through. So we settled down to the task with a will. Scarcely had we
emerged into the open ground for a couple of minutes, when we saw a
figure dash out of the lane in full cry after us.
It was Forwood, the whipper-in, a terrible "scud" across country, and
he was only fifty yards or so ahead of three others, also celebrated for
their pace. So we hares had our work cut out for us, and no mistake!
For a mile we ran as hard as we well could, turning neither to right nor
left, and halting neither at ditch nor dyke. Parkhurst Towers rose before
us in the distance, and more than one boy was already strolling out in
our direction to witness the finish.
How we wished we were as fresh as they!
"Put it on, hares!" shouted the first who met us, "you'll do it yet."
"Hounds are gaining!" cried the next we passed--a young urchin sitting
on a bank and eating toffee.
And now there met us not single spectators only, but groups, who
cheered loudly, backing, some the hares and some the hounds, till we
hardly knew where we were. Some even began to run along with us, at
a respectful distance, in order to be "in at the death."
The playground wall was now visible only half a mile away, on the
other side of the Gravelshire Canal, which had to be crossed by a
bridge which we were fast approaching.
I gave a rapid look back. Forwood was now only a hundred yards
behind us, with lots of running still in him. He would certainly run us
down in the next half-mile.

"Birch," I said, as I ran beside him, "are you good for a swim?"
"Rather!" he exclaimed; "if you are. Quick!"
We swerved suddenly in our course, and, to the amazement of all
spectators, left the bridge on our left. In another minute we were on the
margin of the canal, and the next moment the splash of a double
"header," and the shouts of the assembled onlookers, proclaimed that
we had made a plunge for it. The canal was only about thirty feet wide,
and we were across it in a twinkling, our light flannel clothes scarcely
interfering with our swimming, and certainly not adding much to the
weight we carried after being soaked through.
Three hundred yards now! Ah! that cheer behind means that Forwood
has followed our plunge. What are they laughing at, though? Can he